


The Case of the Deadly Records

by the_doppelgänger_sporadic (oboetheres)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4066426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oboetheres/pseuds/the_doppelg%C3%A4nger_sporadic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a client comes to Baker Street hoping that Sherlock can find out who assaulted them, John can't see how it rates high enough on Sherlock's scale for him to take the case. Sherlock seems to think it does, and he's usually right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Deadly Records

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dioscureantwins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dioscureantwins/gifts).



John hurried up the steps into 221b carrying some very heavy shopping. Sherlock had wanted three large watermelons for some reason, and of course he wasn't going to go get them himself. He could hear indistinct voices filtering down the stairs, unfamiliar except for Sherlock’s; there must have been clients in. A moment later John walked in the door, causing the conversation to suddenly break off. The two people sitting across from Sherlock both turned to look at him, and the first thing he noticed was the very pronounced black eye that the woman was sporting. Siblings, he thought too, from the family resemblance, not husband and wife.

“Ah, hello, m'just the flatmate and occasional assistant. Don’t mind me.” He gave a sort of quick awkward nod to the room and hurried into the kitchen to put his shopping away, feeling eyes silently follow him before the two turned back to Sherlock. As he stowed the melons he could hear their voices start up again from the other room.

“Well, if you received harassing phone calls, then it wasn’t ‘out of the blue’, was it?” Sherlock was scoffing.

The answering voice was male, and pleading rather than angry.

“Well, yes we were getting phone calls, but they were just threatening some sort of vague ‘legal action’ for us supposedly receiving stolen goods. We ignored them, you know? We thought it had to be some weird scam.”

“They weren’t the sort of calls that would make you worried that you would be attacked,” the woman interjected. “And Jake hasn’t been attacked,” she hesitated, voice turning worried, “at least not yet. So I don’t know, I mean, we can’t be certain that the calls are related to this." She paused uncomfortably as John worked his way back into the room.

"Sorry about that, was in a bit of a hurry to set those things down. John Watson," he said, holding out his hand. "You're clients?"

"Jake Porter, and this is my sister Beth," the man responded, reaching over to shake John's hand. Beth just gave him a strained nod.

"Alright," he said gently. "I’m just going to go sit on the sofa over there and start taking some notes, if that’s okay with the two of you.”

“Oh, of course,” Beth replied. “Should we, I don’t know, go back over the things we’ve already covered?”

“No. Continue,” Sherlock snapped in answer.

"Well, I’m honestly hoping they are related, that if we figure out what it is that these people think we stole, I’m sorry ‘received’," she rolled her eyes, "we’ll be able to prevent this from happening again, to me or to him.” She and her brother looked at each other.

“They’ve got to be related,” he said, addressing her rather than Sherlock. “I mean, don’t they? We start getting these phone calls and then a couple weeks later one of us gets jumped? And nothing’s stolen?” He turned towards the detective.

“It would seem suspect, yes.” Sherlock replied dryly. “I believe that I will take the case. Now, Ms. Porter, before you go I’ll need to examine your injuries. It’s a shame you didn’t come here immediately, when they were still fresh,” he finished with relish.

“Sure,” she sighed, resigned. She stood up and walked over to him, pulling off her jacket to reveal obvious bruising on her upper arms, clearly continuing up under the sleeves. From John’s perspective by the door into the kitchen he thought they looked like handprints, like someone had grabbed her by the arms hard enough to bruise. He winced slightly in sympathy, contrast to Sherlock who said, “Oh, good,” as he leaned eagerly forward to take a closer look.

Sherlock gently prodded at the bruising before moving to examine the rest of her arms and hands, obtaining silent permission to pull her shirt aside and follow the bruising up her arms, picking up another area around one shoulder. Eventually she reluctantly pulled the hem of her shirt up to allow Sherlock a better view of her abdomen. “Ah,” he started, delighted. “Your assailant was right handed, no surprise or help there. However, he was at one time a student at an ITF taekwondo school, unusual for someone in his line of work. It’s little use to him practically, but he hasn’t entirely lost some of the habits he picked up there. See? Here and here.” He indicated some of the bruising that John couldn’t see very well.

“Whatever you say,” she replied, sounding bemused.

“Any other visible injuries?”

“No, nothing else.” She stepped quickly away, facing away from them as she straightened her clothing out and hurriedly put her jacket back on. Her brother stepped up to Sherlock as she was still getting herself back together.

“Thank you so much Mr. Holmes, it’s such a relief to both of us that you’ve agreed to take this as a case.

“I’m sure it is,” Sherlock smiled thinly. “I think that will be all for now. Leave the papers, I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”

After a set of awkward goodbyes that had Sherlock proclaim “Dull,” to their new client’s faces, John went over to him.

“What was that about? Assault, that isn’t usually your sort of thing, is it?”

“Oh, but this is so much more than that John, can’t you see? No of course you can’t. You missed the important facts, and even if you hadn’t you still wouldn’t have seen.”

________

The alley was entirely unremarkable. There was no obvious blood as if someone had been cut, of course, because no one had been. It was simply an alley. John sighed, and set about taking photographs of every square inch of the area Sherlock had indicated. Finally, something caught his eye, a small penknife right up against the wall, nearly the same colour as the brick behind it. John leaned in and got a closer picture of it before sending the whole set off to Sherlock and texting him.

_Did they even go to the police Sherlock?_

_Yes. Not that it did them any good. The knife is of no significance. SH_

John looked askance at his mobile. He’d spent nearly fifty minutes getting here and this was it? Take some pictures and have Sherlock immediately decide that there was no evidence to be found here?

_I’m going to be late for my date for that, Sherlock?_

_We cannot eliminate what we have not investigated. SH_

_____________

“Thanks Sherlock, I really wanted to waste two hours right before my date just riding to a completely unremarkable alley and back.”

Sherlock looked up from the computer screen, obviously confused. John sighed and let it drop. It always irked him when Sherlock presumed like that, but he was so oblivious to it that it seemed pointless to stay angry at him for very long.

“Please tell me you’ve found something while I was off being useless.”

“Useless, John? That was hardly useless. Didn’t you see the scuff marks on the ground?” It was Sherlock’s turn to huff in exasperation. “In any case I have been able to determine the device that was used to place the phone calls as well as the store from which it was purchased.” John’s eyes lit up briefly and then almost immediately his face fell.

“Does that mean that you’ve solved it then? I thought that you thought that there was more to this case than that.” Sherlock had been in one of his funks recently and John had hoped that this case, whatever it turned out to be, would be involved enough to get Sherlock out of that state. He’d been seeing Mycroft far too frequently since the end of the last case.

“No,” Sherlock replied archly, “it does not. Whoever purchased the phone knew what they were doing. It was a disposable mobile purchased with cash using a prepaid card, also bought with cash. Both were purchased from small non-franchised shops which keep their security footage for a limited period of time. By the time the mobile was used, the security footage had ceased to exist.”

“Huh.” John considered for a moment. At least it looked like there was more here to keep Sherlock occupied. “Any other ideas to go on?”

“Those are a little more interesting,” Sherlock indicated the papers that the siblings had left with them. “Or at least potentially so. The words used in those phone calls were very carefully chosen. ‘Received stolen property,’ such vague wording. There’s quite a lot of property enumerated in the estate documents and the other financial records they’ve left us.”

“Well, have fun with that then. I am going to go get ready for my date. Which you are not invited on, by the way.”

“Why would I want to go on your date? It sounds dreadfully boring. I’d imagine you mostly just sit there and listen to her talk about her adorable dog,” he sneered.

“How did you know… you know what, nevermind,” John decided and went to go take a quick shower and put some clean clothes on before he made himself even more late.

_____________

Sherlock waited until John had tramped down the stairs and shut the door before springing up and whirling around, grabbing his coat as he went. He’d already texted Molly, she’d have what he needed waiting for him at Bart’s.

By the time Sherlock got to the old hospital it was late enough that most of the people had gone, and his footsteps echoed as he strode down the mostly empty halls. Molly was waiting for him in the lab he normally used.

“I got that report you asked for, but I don’t see why you’re interested in it. It’s all perfectly normal and mundane.”

“Thank you Molly,” he responded with an edge to his voice, “but I think I’ll be the judge of that.” He was already opening the report, eyes scanning the pages as he quickly became engrossed. She sighed.

“I guess I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Actually Molly, would you mind grabbing me a coffee?” he asked with false politeness, not even looking up as he flicked a page aside.

“Um, I, no!” she responded, surprised. “I’ll just be right back then.” She hurried from the room a little embarrassed and frustrated over being ignored and dismissed by him yet again. Sherlock didn’t even really register her absence.

_________________

John shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked down the street. His date had gone alright, though Sherlock _was_ right. Lise did seem to talk mostly about her dog. In fairness, it was actually a nice friendly dog, not one of those little yappy things. It was quite accomplished at fetch, and had done quite well when she’d enrolled it in one of those doggy agility training classes. Also in fairness, she talked about that dog the way young parents talked about their children, entirely too much and as if it was the only interesting thing in their lives. For her, everything centered around her dog. Offer to walk it for her and she was willing to overlook almost anything.

John was really looking forward to getting home and finishing up that book he’d been working on, maybe catching up on those medical journals that had arrived recently. There’d been some interesting looking new variations on surgical techniques that he’d seen when he’d glanced at the contents of one, and a couple of novel case studies in the other. Then a good night’s sleep and working on a case that would hopefully turn into something that would get their blood pumping. Sherlock seemed to think there was more to it than met the eye, and Sherlock was usually right. Just thinking about the whole thing started to bring a smile to his face.

He sped up, it wasn’t very far to Baker Street and he wasn’t going to waste money on a cab. There weren’t very many people still out this late, so when he noticed a woman just standing around a half a block ahead, he couldn’t help but take a little closer look. The smile was wiped off his face when he recognized her.

“Anthea?” he frowned. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Get stuck with the bad assignment tonight?” She merely smiled, and inclined her head towards the black car that was just pulling up alongside them.

“It couldn’t wait?” he asked as he was already getting into the car. “I did actually have plans.”

“No,” she stated simply. John gave up. She could be entirely impenetrable when she wanted, and he’d learned that pushing her was pointless.

The car stopped outside a slightly less creepy abandoned building than usual. Mycroft seemed very keen even now on keeping Sherlock from being aware of their meetings. John wasn’t entirely sure why- after all, he usually told Sherlock about their ‘chats’ as soon as he got home. Mycroft was completely in control of their meetings though, so there was nothing for it but to just play along.

John honestly didn’t really mind these meetings anymore so long as they weren’t too frequent. There was always a slight feeling of danger to these non-optional meetings with Mycroft, no matter that John would never admit aloud to being slightly alarmed by the other man. Whether John was willing to acknowledge it or not, he liked being in that sort of situation. Besides, he had accepted that Mycroft was acting with Sherlock’s best interests at heart, however odd his ways of showing that often turned out to be. Despite surface appearances he was no more socially normal than his little brother, but not an enemy.

When they were finally inside, John decided he might as well start it off--he’d already had enough time wasted by one Holmes for the day.

“Evening, Mycroft. How are you?” he started, trying to be polite.

“That depends, John. How is my brother?”

“He’s doing better, finally. He actually accepted a case today, and he’s much more interested in it than I’d have guessed from what I know about it. I’ve never seen him take an assault case like this before. He must know something I don’t-”

“Hardly unusual,” Mycroft interjected.

“No, it’s not.” John sighed resignedly. “But he seems to think that it’s not going to be boring. I think he’s out of danger for the moment, actually.”

Mycroft gave a small but actually genuine smile at that. “Good, I’m glad to hear that, John. You will accompany him of course, on this case, and ensure that he does not come to any harm at the hands of these assailants.” This is the part of dealing with Mycroft that John hates. The way the man puts things is nearly always controlling, and he acts like he’s John’s boss. While John had refused the money when they first met he sometimes feels as though he really has ended up working for him as though he’d taken it. In hindsight he’s decided that Sherlock was probably right and he should have taken the money and split it with him.

“Right, ‘cause I was planning on just letting my friend go out and get himself killed,” John shot back sarcastically. “Seriously though Mycroft, I do actually want to keep him safe without you ordering me to, you know.”

Mycroft gave him another smile, this one thin and slightly threatening somehow. “Good. I’m pleased to hear that. Do have a pleasant evening, John.”

John watched him saunter off, exasperated. He’d been brought all the way to- wherever he was- just for that. Couldn’t he have just phoned?

_______________

While most people seemed to think that there couldn’t be much urgency in Molly’s work due to the deceased state of her subjects, there were actually quite a lot of situations where time was of the essence. The race against natural decomposition was never ending and whenever a crime was suspected they had the police breathing down their necks as well.

That morning had quite a few time sensitive tasks and Molly wasn’t able to get back to her desk until mid-morning to take a look at the other autopsy report she had pulled. She quickly finished up her most pressing paperwork and sent it out the door before turning to the slim folder that had been burning a hole in her concentration all morning.

Last night when she’d pulled out John Porter’s autopsy report for Sherlock she’d idly noticed several other Porters on file, including a Marianne Porter. She didn’t think much of it until she took a quick look inside. The header listed a ‘Marianne Porter (deceased)’ in the Spouse slot.

Hadn’t Sherlock’s text said something about this having to do with the man’s family? If so, her report was potentially just as relevant as his had been. Besides, she was curious about what would lead to these two people both passing through Bart’s nearly a decade apart. By that time she’d been exhausted though. She’d sat down to try to read it, and found herself reading the first few lines of the header over and over without them really registering. It hadn’t taken her too long to give it up and leave for the night.

She’d been hoping to look at it first thing that morning, but she’d gotten pulled before she’d even made it to her desk. Now, finally, she was going to have a chance to look at it. It was probably a normal report anyway, she told herself. If it had been important Sherlock would have asked for it in the first place.

She took a deep breath and opened the report up. The header was utterly mundane- it showed that Marianne Porter had died at home alone on the morning of April 8th. By the time her husband had returned from work that evening she was cold and stiff. It wasn’t until she reached the description of the autopsy that Molly realized that something was off. The vocabulary wasn’t what she was used to seeing in these reports, and the chemistries were just slightly off from normal, but not remarked on at all in the report itself. It was much more like what she imagined Sherlock had been looking for. She had to show this to him.

_____________

John did get one of the things he had wished for the previous evening before he had been whisked away to meet Mycroft- he got to go with Sherlock to work on the case. They had made their way to a modest little neighborhood farther out from the more expensive areas of the city, and stopped in front of a smaller two story. Inside the house had a very cozy feel, with quite a lot of old throw rugs on the floor, furniture that was obviously from different sets and a nice sort of well cared for, lived in smell. The sort of smell associated with fond memories of visiting grandparents. Beth showed them through the entryway into a room filled with various cabinets, bookshelves, and a desk.

“This is the room that he used as an office. There’s all sorts of papers here, I think they just filed them and never threw them away. And well, mum, she was a bit paranoid about that sort of thing. She always wanted to keep all her records forever,” she explained in a sort of fondly exasperated tone. “Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll just be in the kitchen,” she waved vaguely towards a doorway off the other side of the entryway. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Sherlock and John turned toward the cabinets as she left, Sherlock leaning down and picking up a case similar to the one the siblings had used to bring the estate papers to Baker Street. John went immediately to a cabinet that was an odd combination of drawers and compartments with doors. “Whew. She wasn’t kidding when she said that they’d never thrown any of this stuff out. Take a look at this, Sherlock,” he exclaimed, pulling some ancient checking statements out of one of the lower drawers.

Sherlock peered at them, his eyes starting to light up. “Get the rest out of the drawer.” He and John worked together to pull the rest out, Sherlock quickly glancing at them before stowing them inside the case.

“So, Sherlock, you said that the messages just said that they received property. Couldn’t that be absolutely anything?”

“It could be, but it isn’t. Notice, John, that while they only applied further pressure to Beth they sent those messages to both of them. First, we aren’t looking for a single discrete object, but something that both of them could receive at the same time, though in unequal amounts. One possibility is that the property is simply money.” He indicated the papers they were looking through - financial records of various types. “Both inherited money, though Beth can be considered to have inherited more since she inherited this house which was bought with her father’s money. Alternately it could be a set of items, most of which have remained at the house with a small portion having passed into Jake’s possession.” He glanced over at a cabinet that they had yet to look through and crossed over to it to pull the door open with a flourish. “Like these.”

The cabinet contained an old fashioned record player and more vinyl than John had ever seen in one place outside of a music store. From the look of the sleeves, the records seemed to run the gamut from mint condition, to well loved, to loved a little too well.

“That is impressive.” John said slowly, a little awe creeping into his voice.

“There are quite a lot of valuable records here, and it _is_ odd to see such a high proportion of mint condition records in a collection,” Sherlock began, “he could have just been a collector, or this could be what they’re talking about.”

“Huh. Stolen records.” John shook his head. “Do you really think that’s what it is?”

“It’s not likely,” responded Sherlock, “but it is a possibility and it hasn’t yet been eliminated. In any case, I don’t have many other leads at the moment,” he admitted. “There was absolutely nothing of interest in John Porter’s autopsy.”

“You found his autopsy report?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said dryly. “Dull. Utterly dull. Completely standard for someone who died of massive blunt trauma in an automobile collision. Massive internal hemorrhaging, punctured lungs, severe concussion. Utterly standard.” John looked up to see Beth standing in the doorway looking a little pale.

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. He does that. He’s just looking at it from a ‘will it solve this case’ point of view. He doesn’t mean it like that-”

“Of course I mean it like that,” Sherlock cut in. “It was completely uninteresting. Well, aside from the very basic level of interest that comes from reviewing the damage done to the human body by a very specific set of circumstances. I’ll grant you that there was a minute level of interest to be found simply because of that.” He paused. “But yes, you are correct- there was absolutely nothing that would be of help to the case.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well isn’t that good then? That means that this really was an accident, that he wasn’t killed by these people to try to get this thing back?” She swallowed nervously. It was clear that she wanted reassurance that she and her brother weren’t in danger of being killed by the people threatening them. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“No, it doesn’t. This does not eliminate the possibility that the accident was not so accidental.” She gasped before he continued on. “However, there are quite a few other factors that do eliminate that possibility.” She almost slumped in relief.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Yes, how can you possibly know that, Sherlock?” John added.

“I pulled the police report on the accident,” he replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The police may be imbeciles, but at least in this case the report contained enough raw data for me to conclude that the accident was indeed accidental.”

“That’s good to hear,” she sighed in relief. “I don’t know what Jake and I would have done. I mean, no one wants to think of their father being murdered for stealing something! And not even counting that it would mean that we could be killed at any moment too!”

“Of course,” Sherlock said with false politeness, clearly not understanding why this would mean anything to her aside from the potential danger it would imply. John gave her a sympathetic smile.

“That would be pretty difficult wouldn’t it. No one wants to think that any of their loved ones brought something bad on themselves like that.” She nodded gratefully.

Sherlock walked away, the conversation clearly no longer holding any interest for him, and began to pull some of the records from the cabinet and place them on top of the paperwork inside the case.

“What are you doing?” Beth asked, slightly alarmed. “He didn’t steal any of those, I’m sure of it!”

“Did he keep all of his receipts?” Sherlock asked challengingly. She shook her head. “Then there isn’t any evidence of that is there? I can’t eliminate these as a possibility without examining them further.”

“Alright,” she acquiesced reluctantly, “but he didn’t… _steal_ any of them!”

“Beth,” John asked cautiously, “Did any of those records go to your brother?”

“Yes!” She was surprised, “he has some of the ones that he and dad used to listen to together. It was their father-son bonding music, I guess.”

“So he does have some at his place.” John looked over at Sherlock. Beth’s eyes widened as she considered the implications.

“Do you think that’s why they were threatening both of us?”

“If it was something that was still entirely in this house, why would they be threatening your brother? He wouldn’t be in possession of it,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh,” she started uncertainly. She paused, obviously floundering. “Is that it, are you leaving now?”

“We will be shortly.”

“Well, if you need to come back anytime after five, give Jake a call. I’ve got work tonight so I won’t be around to let you in, but he has a key.”

“I’m sure that won’t be an issue,” Sherlock said thinly.

Out on the street Sherlock was already getting in the cab by the time John finished apologizing for him to their client, and John hurried in behind him.

__________

Unnoticed, the two men camped out in the house across the street stepped away from the window.

“That was that detective wasn’t it? The one that was in the news?” asked the younger of the two.

“Yeah,” responded the other.

“You don’t think that they’re trying to find us, do you?”

“Well, those papers are supposed to be in some sort of code, so maybe they’ve got ‘em, they just don’t know that they lead to us yet. We’d better let her know he was here.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll get a chance to get rid of him! Wouldn’t that be fun? Everyone would owe us.” The other one laughed.

“Yes they would, but if he were that easy to get rid of, he’d be long dead.”

___________

“A night job,” John considered as the cab moved off. “I wonder what she does.”

“She’s a pharmacist. I would think that would be obvious to you.”

“Obvious? Sherlock, no. That’s not obvious.”

“Didn’t you notice yesterday, at the flat?”

“Notice what?”

“The smell, John! Surely as a doctor you are familiar with the rather pungent smell of some oral antibiotics!”

“Well, I suppose. Some can have a strong smell, depending on the batch. Cephalexin comes to mind.”

“It very well could have been Cephalexin. It takes quite a bit of exposure to leave a noticeable level of scent on a person, so she isn’t simply taking a course of antibiotics. She could potentially work at a manufacturer, but she lacks the calluses we would see if that were the case. Additionally, she had a smear of ink on the pad of her thumb as if she had repeatedly rubbed it over recent writing with precisely the same motion, a result of applying labels to prescription bottles immediately after initialling them as correct.”

“How can you know that she’s a pharmacist and not just an assistant?”

“I also noticed a couple of Pharmacology textbooks and a reference in the office in her house, all too recent to have belonged to either of her parents. You see, John, it was right in front of you, but you did not observe!” John shook his head.

“Okay, I can see how the books were right in front of me and I just missed them, but I know she didn’t have any antibiotic smell that I could detect.” John shook his head. “You’re right, Sherlock, I’m a doctor and I would have recognized that. How good is your sense of smell, exactly?” Sherlock just smiled.

________

Back at St. Bart’s they John was surprised when they didn’t go inside immediately. His unasked questions didn’t have long to simmer though; the wait only lasted a few minutes before Lestrade appeared around the corner. John was confused, to say the least.

“Sherlock, what’s Lestrade doing here?” he asked as the detective came towards them. “He needs to see this evidence. Detective Inspector,” he continued loudly and over jovially, “how good to see you!” The look on Lestrade’s face was priceless.

“Sherlock?” he asked suspiciously, “ _What_ is going on?”

“This way, Detective Inspector, I have something to show you.” John and Greg exchanged bemused looks before following Sherlock into the building and down the route that led to the usual lab.

“Ah, Mike!” Sherlock greeted, again with a suspicious level of joviality. “Let Molly know we’re here, won’t you?”

He gave the three of them an odd look , “She actually just asked me to keep an eye out for you a little while ago. I’m just heading down to the offices, I’ll send her your way then,” he threw John another puzzled look before continuing on his way.

Once in the lab Sherlock proceeded to pull the records out of the case and take tiny samples from the outer paper sleeves, leaving the other two at loose ends.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade started sternly, “Your text said that this was urgent.”

“It is,” Sherlock replied, distracted. “It was absolutely crucial that you come meet us here.”

“Why was it crucial Sherlock?” he asked frustrated, and received no answer. “Great, just great.”

John shook his head in sympathy. “Sherlock, you do realize that you pulled him away from his job for this, right?”

“Well this pertains to his work, so it’s quite appropriate.”

“It would be more appropriate if you’d tell me why I’m here!” Lestrade paused. “Look. If you don’t have anything for me, I’ll just be on my way.”

“No, you won’t,” stated Sherlock without looking up, “because the evidence I have will help you convict a group that has assaulted a woman and harassed both herself and her brother.” Rubbing his face with one hand as though to stave off a headache, Lestrade remained, though he looked deeply unhappy about it. “Criminal ventures?” he prompted.

“Yes. I cannot give you the specifics of their nature at this point, but it is absolutely clear that there is more than one group of criminals at play here.”

“Look, Sherlock, this isn’t even my division.”

“Didn’t I mention? They’ve killed in connection with this venture in the past, Detective Inspector.

” “Great, where’s your evidence for that?”

“Not in my possession quite yet,” Sherlock informed him disdainfully. “Here. This is what I have on hand at the moment, not that you are capable of seeing the relevance,” he pulled a manila folder full of paper out of the case and handed it to Lestrade, who opened it up and stopped, puzzled. They were summary statements for savings accounts- not checking statements which would have been useful. The only information they contained was the balance, the interest rate, and how much interest had been earned in the statement period.

“Bank statements? Why have you given me bank statements?” Lestrade asked, puzzled. Sherlock sniffed. “They contain key evidence,” he explained haughtily. The DI just slumped and looked askance at Sherlock.

“Key evidence, Sherlock? How?” He drew himself up and his tone hardened, “If you’re playing me-”

“Not at all,” Sherlock interjected, a little too politely to be entirely believed. “Key evidence in solving this murder.”

“When did it become murder Sherlock?” asked John. “I thought-” he broke off as Molly burst into the room.

“Oh good,” she said, “I was worried you’d be gone before I could get up here, I only just got away. Sherlock you need to see this,” she told him emphatically, holding up a slightly faded folder.

His eyes lit up as he took it from her, murmuring “Marianne Porter.”

“Yes. It’s the man’s wife- she died eight years ago. The autopsy report- just look at it!” she practically vibrated with excitement at being able to contribute evidence. His eyes flicked to her for just a moment before he opened it up and started reading.

As he scanned down the page, his eyebrows shot up and he slowly drew in a breath as an utterly delighted smile crept across his features.

“Ooh, now this is interesting! Do you know what this means Molly?”

“She didn’t just die of a heart attack?” she shrunk slightly away from the intensity of the attention suddenly directed at her. “There was something else going on.”

“Yes,” he exclaimed in triumph. “She was murdered! This Lestrade, this is all the evidence you could ever need that this woman was murdered!” Lestrade came over and peered at the page.

“Sherlock, the conclusion is that she died of natural causes!” he exclaimed indignantly. “The conclusion was wrong!” Sherlock countered fiercely. “You do agree on that, Miss Hooper.” He shot a glance at Molly.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Something is going on here. I can’t tell you how many of those reports I’ve seen, and this one isn’t normal. It’s been messed with. I can’t think of any reason for it to look like this aside from covering up that she was actually murdered.” She stopped, looking sheepish about babbling on like that. Sherlock once again grinned in triumph.

“That’s your evidence Lestrade,” he said, thrusting the file at him. “She was poisoned.” Lestrade watched him move back over to the vinyl records and pile them into the case.

“But you didn’t know about this when you called me!”

“You think I didn’t know that when I called you,” he replied, snapping the case shut. “Come on John, we’re done here.” Instead of following immediately, John turned back to the other two people in the room.

“He _didn’t_ know, I’m pretty sure,” he countered. “Brilliant catch Molly.”

“Oh,” she looked at him wide eyed in surprise. “Thank you. It was just that curiosity got the better of me.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t a complete waste, I guess,” Lestrade said. “Thank you Miss Hooper.” She stood awkwardly in the room for a moment after they had gone before sighing and heading off to get back to work.

___________

Once outside of Bart’s, Sherlock handed the paper and vinyl filled case off to John and took off in a cab with no explanation. Used to this by now, John decided to take it as having the afternoon off. He actually managed to get in most of that catching up on his medical journals that he’d been hoping for the other day. He would never be using the orthopedic technique described. Orthopedic surgery was one area that he’d never really wanted to go into, but he could still appreciate the techniques used.

As late afternoon started getting on to evening Mrs. Hudson bustled through, chatting at John as she did a little straightening out in the room. He attempted to be polite and pay attention - her stories did have points of interest, there was just so much useless minutia cluttering them up that it took a lot of mental energy to stay with her. John just didn’t have the energy to concentrate on something that dull at the moment. God. He shook his head at himself. He was starting to think like Sherlock now. It was discomfitting.

“Wait-” he roused himself from his thoughts as Mrs. Hudson turned to leave. “I’m sorry, I was just drifting there for a moment.”

“Oh that’s all right dear, I think we all do that,” she said dismissively. “I was just saying that I was going to pop over to Mrs. Turner’s for a bit, have a bit of a catch up. You boys will have to fend for yourselves tonight,” she finished, a twinkle in her eye. A short laugh escaped John.

“I think we’ll manage to survive, Mrs. Hudson.”

“I don’t know what the two of you would do if it wasn’t for takeout, though,” she mused as she turned to head off. “I like to think we’d learn to adapt, eventually,” John said more to himself than anything else. He checked his watch, he’d be running down the street for commiseration night with Greg shortly. And bugger all did they have something to commiserate over today. John shook his head, thinking back to what Sherlock had pulled that day. Calling Lestrade down to Bart’s claiming it was urgent only to hand him some absolutely useless papers! One of these days he was going to get in serious trouble for misuse of police resources or the like.

John had taken a look at the other papers that Sherlock had taken from the house when he’d first got back, and they could actually be useful. They seemed to be mostly checking statements, with names and dates, and Lestrade had groaned that it was picking through the financials that often helped solve a case Really, why couldn’t Sherlock have given him these? If Sherlock really had just been bluffing as John suspected, why hadn’t he given him something mildly believable? John shook his head again. He never could predict what was going on in that ridiculous brain.

______________________

John heard his own name called from across the room and raised his hand in acknowledgment, grinning as he made his way over.

“Greg! How was the rest of your day after that little Sherlock debacle?” “God,” Greg rolled his eyes. “Well, at least there was that report Molly brought. Do you really think that Sherlock didn’t even know about that?”

“I don’t know,” John admitted. “If he did he was keeping me in the dark about it. He did get hold of Mr. Porter’s autopsy report and I would think- I would think that if he knew hers might look like that he would have at least tried to get hold of it at the same time.”

“Yeah,” Greg shrugged helplessly, “but you never do know with Sherlock. I mean, maybe he found something else out after he looked at the first one. Or, quite possibly, I’m giving his level of consideration too much credit.” He studied his drink.

John was silent a moment, rolling the idea around in his head before moving on to the next question he thought Greg might be able to answer.

“So, what happened with that report then?”

“Well, we got some of our other proper consultants in to take a look at it. You know, real specialists with real degrees,” he finished with emphasis. “They’ve taken a look at it, and they agree with Molly. It’s been tampered with and that’s mighty suspicious, but there’s not enough there to say that she was murdered, let alone to conclude that she was killed by poisoning.” He pulled a face. “No change there, sit back and rely on Sherlock Holmes because the real experts can’t keep up with him.”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “Just leaves us all in the dust doesn’t he?” He shook his head before continuing. It was stating the obvious, for both of them, but sometimes things just needed to be said. He and Greg were on the same page about that, at least. “Got another summoning by Mycroft last night. And right after Sherlock found a case to be excited about. Had me driven probably twenty minutes each way for a conversation that lasted about two.” Greg chuckled, earning a halfhearted glare from John.

“Well, that’s him all over isn’t. It’s like to him the only part of other people’s lives that actually exists is the part that has to do with Sherlock.”

“I’ll say,” John agreed.

_____________

Sherlock knew that something was wrong as he was approaching the door to 221B. He bent down and looked at the lock- it had been picked. It was locked again when he tried it.

He entered the building cautiously and was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see signs that their uninvited guest had already left. He made his way up the stairs and took in the main room on the first floor. It was immediately obvious what had been taken- the case that he’d had John bring back here was no longer where John had clearly put it over by the sofa, and the disturbance of the papers on the table indicated that some of the contents had been placed there and then hurriedly shoved back in.

“Damn,” he breathed. He hadn’t actually looked at all of them yet, and what he’d seen so far had been rather interesting. She’d made repeated payments to a lawyer completely separate from the lawyer she and her husband had used together and her husband had continued to use after her death. A quick internet search had revealed that this lawyer was now retired. When he’d seen that back at the house, that was when he’d known that he’d looked at the wrong autopsy report.

He’d expected to have to ask Molly for it, but when Mike had said that she was already looking for him he calculated that there was a ninety one percent probability that she’d already looked at it, and wanted to see him to show it to him.

After they had left Bart’s he had been planning to look more closely at her financial history- establish her patterns, see what they told him. He hadn’t at the time considered it a higher priority than checking in on what his network had found using the description of Beth’s assailants he had provided. It was quite reliable, since her account had been supplemented by his analysis of her bruising as well as the faint markings remaining at the scene.

This was definitely a bit of a setback. He had done a thorough job of getting all of that type of record out of the house and into the now missing case. The next move would have to be paying the lawyer a visit. Sherlock looked up as John came through the door.

“Sherlock, was a repairman or someone else just here? The carpet,” he trailed off. Sherlock smiled, pleased as always whenever John noticed something.

“A repairman? No. A thief in disguise as a repairman? Yes.”

“A thief! What did they take, Sherlock?”

“Not just any thief John. One of the thieves whose trail we are following.” John looked around, studying the room for a moment longer.

“The case! It’s gone, it’s not where I put it.”

“Yes!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Precisely! They know that we are getting closer!” His delighted grin was almost alarming.

“What next, then?”

“Next we pay a visit to Mr. Taylor McKinley.”

__________________

“Reporters again, Sherlock, really?” asked John.

“He’s going to be reluctant to talk about this. We need to come at him from an unexpected direction if we are to get the information we need.”

“We can’t just go in and ask him about this in some unexpected way as ourselves?” Sherlock treated him to a raised eyebrow.

“Prefer the full frontal approach today, John?” John sighed and looked down at his getup.

“Well, I think you’re forgetting that you are pretty damned famous now. He’s probably going to recognize you.”

“That, John, is why you are the reporter, and I am the photographer.” He raised the camera up so that it partially obscured his face. John sighed, and somehow managed to stop himself from banging his head reflexively into the wall.

“Sherlock,” he gritted his teeth.

___________

“I’m so sorry about the short notice, but we have this article just about ready to go, and the lawyer that we were going to talk to decided not to participate at the last second.”

“Well, sit down, let’s get to it.”

“Oh, just a moment,” Sherlock interjected. “Just stand right there,” he made a show of focusing his camera and checking his position. John thought he was overdoing it a bit, really.

After the photo was snapped they finally sat down. “I don’t know if we’ll have photo with this article, but it’s always good to have options,” John elaborated.

Looking a little flustered, McKinley nodded. “Right, of course.”

“Well, down to business then,” said John.

“Yes, of course. What exactly was it that you wanted?”

“Well, we were hoping to get some insight into your practice back in the day.”

Sherlock tuned them out as he took a closer look at the room, confirming his initial observations. Everything here was consistent with the public record on its resident. There was nothing here that indicated any connection with any sort of criminal group at all. It looked like McKinley was boringly squeaky clean. Disappointing, and dull.

He turned back to the conversation, and interrupted it mid-sentence.

“Tell me about Marianne Porter,” he commanded.

“I, what!” the lawyer flushed and froze briefly. “I have no idea what you are talking about, I certainly don’t recognize that name! I mean really, I stopped practicing half a decade ago! I don’t remember the name of every one of my clients! I suppose I certainly could have had a Marianne Porter, did you say? as a client. But I don’t recall anyone of that name,” he finally finished, seeming to finally realize that he’d gone on far too long to be believable.

Both Sherlock and John looked at him suspiciously.

“Doth protest too much,” Sherlock quipped, interest piqued again.

“We know she was one of your clients,” John continued, still in ‘pretend to be a reporter’ mode. “Surely you remember something, to react like that.”

“I, well, really now. I know absolutely nothing! I want nothing to do with that business at all, you hear me?” McKinley was starting to sweat now, and he hunted about for a handkerchief to drag across his face. “I’m nothing to do with it, nothing at all! I don’t know anything I tell you!”

“Relax Mr. McKinley! We aren’t here to hurt you or anything like that!” John tried to reassure him.

“Look, you can’t publish anything about that. If they find out… I don’t know. I could be in danger, you could be in danger! You have to leave it alone! I don’t know what you think you know, but you have to leave it! You don’t know anything, there is nothing too know!” As he spoke his voice continued to rise with increasing agitation. Sherlock stepped forward, lowering the camera.

“Mr. McKinley, we absolutely must know everything you know. It won’t be in the papers.”

“Look, I don’t know anything, not really. All I know is that it’s not safe to know about what happened to Marianne Porter,” he finished dejected. All his energy seemed to have been spent in his earlier tirade.

“Look, Mr. McKinley, were here because both her children have been harassed, and her daughter has been assaulted,” John informed him. “If you don’t help us, you bear part of the responsibility for whatever happens to them. And if it’s as bad as you seem to fear, their lives could be in danger.”

The retired lawyer sat there stock still, as if his breath had been stolen away. Finally, he took in a shaky breath.

“Alright,” he started unevenly, “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much. It won’t even help them. I just don’t want you to think that I’m the sort of person would just stand by and let those people be hurt or killed when I could have done something to stop it.” He took a deep breath.

“Marianne Porter first came to me about two decades ago now,” he started slowly, consideringly. “She told me that she’d inadvertently stumbled across something very dangerous. Evidence that could disrupt some sort of criminal operations. I urged her to go to the police of course, but she wouldn’t listen. She said that they already had evidence that would lead them back to her. Trying to bow out was no longer an option for her.” He paused again, collecting his thoughts.

“Now, I never knew what it was. Mrs. Porter came to me to set up a sort of dead man’s switch. We were going to have this evidence stowed away in a secure location, and set it up so that a group of people would be taken to that location upon her death. There was supposed to be a police officer, a private detective and a couple of reporters, they were all supposed to be shown to the evidence at the same time. And oh! A cryptographer and a forensics expert as well. And it worked! I have no idea how she pulled it off, but she managed to leverage this evidence to keep herself safe from whoever it was for over a decade. We all thought she was overdoing it a bit. We only realized how wrong we were after she died.

“You see, we heard about her death, and went to pull up the papers we’d need. They were gone. There wasn’t a single copy left, there was no evidence that it had ever existed, there wasn’t even any evidence that my firm had ever had a client called Marianne Porter! We had even lost the contact information for the PI type that was supposed to be able to lead the appropriate people to the evidence. We looked, we really did. We thought that if we could find it, we could take it to the police at least, get something done. We never did find the PI’s information. It was a decade on, and we’d found this guy in an odd way (she’d insisted), we never could remember exactly what we did. And we never found him.

“That’s it. We dropped it after that. These people had killed her and erased things from our offices without a trace, and we had no evidence, no clue who they were. We were frightened, and we let it be. We didn’t want to end up dead,” he finished, pleadingly.

“Wow,” John started once they were back outside. “That was a lot more intense than I expected.”

Sherlock was practically vibrating with glee. “Yes, it’s finally getting interesting!”

______________

John wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t for them to arrive in front of the law firm that McKinley had worked at, currently closed for the weekend. Sherlock immediately set off around the side.

“Really, Sherlock?” John whispered loudly as he followed him into the narrow alley. “Breaking into a law firm? This is a terrible idea!”

Sherlock merely grinned, and picked the lock on the side door, holding it open briefly for John to follow him.

It was quiet inside, but John couldn’t shake the feeling that they were about to be caught at any moment.

“What about the security system, Sherlock?”

“Simple,” was the response. He studied the flashing panel for only a moment before punching in a code. The panel went dark.

“Are you sure you got it right?”

“Of course I am, John. This way.”

It only took Sherlock a moment to find the few files still around that pertained to Mr. McKinley and his former clients. He passed some to John and set about examining the rest himself.

“I don’t see anything Sherlock. It’s just an appointment book.” “Mmm. An appointment book that’s been tampered with. Some of the pages have been removed. Look here,” he commanded, holding the book out so that John was looking at the top of the spine.

“What, oh!” he exclaimed changing tacks in the middle of the thought, as Sherlock pointed to a tiny defect in the glue. “What is it?”

“That is where a page was cut out and the binding glued back together, John. Someone did a very good job of disguising where they removed those pages.”

“That’s brilliant Sherlock,” John said, giving a short laugh.

“Isn’t it?” Sherlock grinned.

_______________

“Where to next?” John asked once they were situated in another cab.

“To see Melanie.”

Their meeting with her was brief and to the point for once. She hadn’t displayed any of the overwrought anxiety of her former boss, and Sherlock had decided to drop the reporter front right away. She seemed a bit dismayed to think back on it, but all in all she was much calmer. Not that that was hard to do. McKinley apparently had ‘a bit of a delicate disposition’ according to her.

“Yes,” she’d said. “We never did find anything that could get us back in contact. But it does sound like I have one new thing to tell you- his name was Ethan. He was younger, about my age, and taciturn. He dressed business casual, but I doubt that helps anything. I remember he had dirty blonde hair at the time and very pretty hazel eyes. That’s it, sadly. We didn’t know anything, not even where Ethan was from- he had a sort of ambiguous accent. Everything else I could tell you Taylor probably told you already. With a bit more drama than necessary, I’m sure, but no less accurate for that.”

“She seemed eager to talk to us,” John said once they were back outside on the pavement. “Yes, she’s been half hoping to have a chance to talk about it for years. I suppose it qualifies as excitement for her,” Sherlock concluded derisively.

“Well, what are we supposed to do now? Look through all the PIs that were active at the time looking for taciturn men named Ethan that had dirty blonde hair and dressed in business casual? That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes it is, John. Which is why we’re not going to do that,” Sherlock responded, holding his arm up for a cab.

____________

John couldn’t help but be surprised when he realized that they were heading back to Beth Porter’s house.

“I didn’t look closely enough at Marianne’s history,” Sherlock admitted, clearly irritated with himself. “I was too caught up in the assumption that it pertained to her husband the last time we were here.”

Inside, they were greeted by Beth and Jake’s aunt who had come down to stay with Beth in the wake of her assault. She had clearly been told that they might stop by, and wasted no time letting them in and showing them back to the office.

Sherlock quickly crossed over to the desk and started frenetically pulling open the drawers and rifling through their contents.

“No, no, no!” He said, voice rising. “It isn’t here, where is it? It has to be somewhere in this room!”

“What are you looking for, Sherlock?”

“It’s probably in a rolodex of some sort. Something kept since Marianne died!”

Almost as if summoned, the aunt popped back up in the door.

“You’re looking for something of Marianne’s?”

__________

“He’s kept it just the same since shortly after she died,” she told them as she led the way up the stairs. “There were quite a lot of her things that he couldn’t bear to get rid of after she died that he didn’t have any use for either. They all got put in this room.” She stopped in front of the door, nodding at it. “I’ll just leave you to it, I suppose?”

“Yes, thank you so much, Mrs. Oswald,” John responded. “This was very helpful.”

He turned away from her retreating back and followed Sherlock into the room. There was little order here, just a jumble of seemingly unrelated possessions stacked on top of each other.

John coughed. “I feel like I’ve just stepped into a hoarder’s house. Where do we even begin?”

He needn’t have asked. Sherlock had already spotted what he was after on the other side of the room and was making his way through the stacks toward it.

“This,” he declared triumphantly. He opened the old rolodex and quickly flipped through to the E’s, where he slowed just slightly. He finally stopped on the last card. It held only the letter E followed by a phone number.

“Now what do you say to that?” Sherlock exclaimed, holding it out so that John could see it too. They looked at each other and broke into laughter for a moment.

“It was really that simple?” John asked. Sherlock smiled.

“Most things are. I don’t think that at it’s core this case is particularly complex. It simply contains a number of very convincing red herrings.” He stopped, smile slowly slipping off his face as he stared into empty space.

“Quiet,” he hissed, and rushed toward the street facing window. He peered through the sheer curtains at the house across the street, and the van just pulling up to the curb down below.

“How could I have missed that! Stupid!” he berated himself as he backed away from the window. He turned toward John.

“They’re here, John. They’ve been watching this house all along. I had some suspicions but I didn’t realize…” he trailed off.

“Didn’t realize what?” John hissed at him.

“Hmm?” Sherlock started, not having realized that he’d gone quiet. “Oh, I didn’t realize that they had made that house across the street a base for their surveillance.” His eyes flicked around the room as he thought.

“They’re going to be coming in.” “What?” John asked sharply.

“They’re coming in, they’ve already sent several people to cut off any routes out the back. That is not something I should have to explain to you!” John rolled his eyes, and hurried down the stairs.

“Mrs. Oswald!” he whispered urgently once he’d found her.

“What?” she asked looking up at him in confusion.

“Upstairs, go! They’re here!” Her eyes widened in alarm.

“The people who came after Beth? Here?” she asked.

“Or their friends. Go!” he insisted. “Hide, we’ll get the police here, but until then you should stay out of sight.”

After she’d disappeared up the stairs, he turned to Sherlock who had made his way down while they’d been talking.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“We use this opportunity to find out with whom we are dealing,” Sherlock stated calmly.

“What? We’re out numbered by how much?” he asked in confusion.

“We don’t want to fight them, we want to let them take us,” Sherlock clarified. “Come on.”

There was a knock on the front door as soon as he had finished speaking, and he looked at John before moving toward the door.

“Sherlock, this is insane!” he whispered.

Sherlock grinned. “Would you have it any other way?”

_________

The ride inside the van was tense and quiet. There were several blunt force looking men in the back with them, none of them saying a word. The windows were all blacked out, and John gave up trying to count the turns in what he considered to be an embarrassingly short period of time. He supposed that Sherlock was probably still keeping track with almost no effort. Of course.

When they finally stopped and were let out, they found themselves in an underground parking garage. It was somehow nicer, in better repair than John would have envisioned.

“Interesting,” commented Sherlock.

They were quickly ushered into an elevator that took them up into what looked to be a perfectly normal office building. Sherlock was suppressing a grin. Of course their abductors had no clue how much useful information could be gleaned from a quick walk through their offices.

They were led to a conference room, and told to go inside. Their escort remained outside the door. After a few minutes of waiting, a very professional looking woman with hair pulled back in a painfully tight looking bun walked up to the guards outside and began talking to the one apparently in charge.

“I think we’ve seen quite enough here, John,” Sherlock intoned quietly. “Be ready to go through that door.” He indicated the second door in the room, which looked as if it led to a supply closet.

“What good will that do us?”

“There’s a second door into another conference room on the other side,” Sherlock explained.

“Won’t they have locked it then?” Sherlock didn’t answer. He merely grinned and pulled a key part way out of his pocket. “Now,” he said suddenly, springing up and unlocking the door in one smooth motion, holding it open just long enough for John to squeeze through as well. He locked it again, quickly.

“Now we head out through the other conference room, and get outside. If I’m right about where we are, and I am, there’s a fairly large campus here that’s mostly just fields, so we’ll have to get down a long private drive and then over the fence.”

“Please tell me that when you were pickpocketing that key you managed to nick at least one of our mobiles as well.”

Sherlock grinned smugly. “Of course. I’ve already texted Lestrade our location. Let’s go.” John couldn’t help grinning in return.

The second they emerged from the other conference room, their abductors were back on them. They took off through the halls, John following Sherlock and hoping desperately that he really was familiar enough with the building they were in to be able to lead them out of it.

It turned out that they were on the ground floor of the building. As they dashed through the main lobby more security people spilled out of other corridors, joining the ones that had been pursuing them. One of them, a younger less fit looking man came from a corridor right next to the doors, and managed to get in front of them. He braced himself and reached for something on his belt, but they were already on top of him. John thrust out a fist and caught him square in the solar plexus as they rushed past.

Out the door they ran, and across the open pavement in front of the building.

“Was that a gun?” John asked, working to stay even with Sherlock. The landscape was just as Sherlock had said. There were a few buildings similar to the one they had come out of surrounded by a green belt of fields, with a road leading through it out to the gate. About halfway down the drive, they looked to be doing quite well, until several cars roared out of what must have been the entrance to the parking garage.

They were security, and they were gaining too fast.

“We aren’t going to make it, Sherlock!” The cars raced ahead of them, cornering them just before they reached the fence.

“Wait for it,” Sherlock murmured, just a moment before the first police car appeared. The security manning the gate had no choice, it was open before the car reached it. Sherlock, John and the security that had been chasing them all stayed still, watching the police approach.

John grinned in relief when he saw Lestrade get out of the first car.

“What’s going on here?” he called out, heading into the rough circle of cars surrounding Sherlock and John. The security guard in charge stepped up.

“Trespassers, Detective,” he answered, narrowing his eyes at Lestrade. Sherlock spoke up before he could continue.

“You know very well that we weren’t trespassing. We were invited guests, even provided with a ride here.” Lestrade looked sharply back at the guard that had answered him.

“Is that true?” The security people exchanged glances that spoke volumes. Those volumes all seemed to based on a similar theme: _oh, bollocks_.

The security had no choice but to back down, apologising for their little ‘mistake’.

“What on earth are the two of you doing here?” Lestrade asked once the area had mostly cleared out.

“As I said, we were invited,” Sherlock told him impatiently. “I think our hosts may have been a little confused.”

“Alright, if I’m not going to get a straight answer out of you, that’s fine. At least let me give you a ride back to Baker Street or wherever it is you need to go.”

Sherlock looked at him sharply. “Why do you continue to insist on offering when you know I’ll just refuse? We aren’t that far from the main road, John and I will get a cab.”

________

They were just turning onto the main road when a familiar sleek black car pulled up alongside them. The door opened to reveal Mycroft sitting in the back.

“Sherlock,” he greeted, “how good to see you hale and healthy.”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock countered, with considerably more venom in his voice, “how good to see you looking fat and sickly.” Mycroft’s expression soured instantly.

“At least let me give you a ride away from this place Sherlock, please.”

“No thank you. I’d rather ride in the back of one of those police cars.” Sherlock sneered and slammed the door in Mycroft’s exasperated face.

John leaned in and mouthed ‘Sorry’ at the car door before turning to follow Sherlock, who was flouncing off down the street.

By the time he’d caught up to him, Sherlock was raising his mobile to his ear.

“Hello, I’m looking for an Ethan.” He paused.

“Ah, are by any chance employed by a private detective?”

“How fortuitous, I find myself in need of your services. Would you mind giving me your address?”

“Excellent, thank you.” He hung up, face immediately smoothing out of the unnaturally friendly expression it had held for the duration of the conversation and into something more normal for him. He leaned towards John and spoke quietly.

“Do you see?”

“Yes,” John answered grimly. “The ‘security’ people from that office. There’s a car there and there. And you’ve just sent away everyone who could have helped us.”

Sherlock looked at him as if he was being obtuse, and hailed another cab. “We shouldn’t have any trouble staying ahead of them now. There’s no need for any help.”

____________

“Should we have really come straight here?” John asked. “wouldn’t it have been better to try to lose them?”

“No, waste of time.” Sherlock marched straight up to the door. “Shall we?” John sighed, and moved to follow.

Inside, Sherlock walked immediately up to the woman manning the front desk.

“Hello,” he said, pasting that smile back on his face. “I called just a little bit ago, asking about Ethan.”

“Oh, hello. What can we do for you?”

“Marianne Porter.” The blank look he received was completely genuine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Well, is there anyone who’s worked here for more than eight years?” he asked impatiently.

“Oh, the boss has.”

“Good. We need to speak to her then.” The receptionist looked surprised.

“Wow. You sure you don’t already know who owns this place? Most people just assume she’s a man. Just a second.” She hurried off through one of the doors leading farther into the building. She was gone more like a minute, but once she returned she waved them through.

“Just go through that door there. Ms.S wants to see you right away.”

Sherlock brushed past her and into the office, John followed and shut the door behind them.

“Ms. Sakamoto, I presume,” Sherlock greeted her. “What do you know about Marianne Porter?” She studied him for a moment before replying.

“I’d like to know who’s asking, first.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” When John realized he wasn’t going to clarify any further he spoke up.

“We’re looking into the assault on her daughter, Beth Porter, and it looks like it may be tied to some of the things in her past.”

“Yes,” her voice was full of regret when she spoke. “That.”

“You know what it was?”

“As much as anybody. I was the only one in a position to follow through on what she wanted to happen, when she died.” She shook her head. “I’m not proud of it. When I realized what the people who killed her were capable of, I abandoned it. I did some digging, I know how effortlessly they got into that law firm.”

“You mean you could have brought the evidence she left with you to the police but you decided not to?” Hands clasped, she looked at them sadly. “That’s right, if it’s still there. Like I said, I’m not proud of it. But I decided years ago now that if someone else came through legitimately investigating this, I’d give them what they need.” She rose, and went over to her filing cabinets. She had to dig through a few drawers, but eventually she pulled out a sheet of paper with an envelope stapled to it.

“Here. It’s got everything you need to get to the bag if it’s still there. Now get out of here. I don’t want you sticking around.”

“We weren’t planning on it.”

Sherlock slotted the paper into one of his pockets as they moved back to the outer door, and pulled his phone out, shooting off a quick text.

___________

Greg had just gotten back to his desk when his phone chimed again. He froze.

“No.” Unfreezing, he pulled his phone out and read the text.

“Bollocks!” He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and strode out into the room.

“Donovan!”

__________

“It’s the safest place to keep your things next to a safe deposit box in a bank,” the manager told them as he led them back to the area where they were hoping to find the mysterious bag. “It’s not as secure as a bank, but we do our best, and we come pretty damn close.”

He hung back by the door watching as they walked down the hall looking for the correct compartment. John took a deep breath when he saw it. They were about to find out what all this was about.

The door opened to reveal a plain tan duffle bag. Sherlock paused to put his gloves on and then picked it up.

“Paper,” he said, “and,” he shifted it around experimentally, feeling the balance of it. “One heavy object near the top. Probably metal.” John couldn’t help but be impressed.

“What now?” John asked. “Do we wait for Lestrade? They were right on our tail.” The manager looked at them.

“What did you say?”

“It’s nothing.” Sherlock informed him, tone scathing. He turned back to John.

“The best thing to do is to head back to Bart’s.”

“And what, just have Lestrade follow us all over town?”

“No,” Sherlock said, looking at John, perplexed. “He’s already heading there directly.” John heaved a sigh.

“So when you texted him when we were coming out of that PI’s office, you weren’t asking him to meet us here, you were asking him to meet us at Bart’s.”

“Of course.”

____________

The drive to the lab was tense, but ultimately uneventful. Inside, Sherlock was immediately confronted by a very irritated Lestrade.

“Oh, but what’s in this bag is going to make it all worth it, Inspector.”

“Let’s see it than.”

Sherlock placed the bag on the table and grabbed some proper lab gloves before carefully unclipping the end of the strap from its loop. He pulled back the folds and peered inside.

“Were you right?” John asked.

“Oh, was I ever,” Sherlock declared triumphantly, pulling a bloody knife from it’s resting place on top of the mound of papers inside the bag.

___________

“So, who did it?” John asked later. “I mean, I understand who killed that man, and why they killed poor Mrs. Porter to try to keep it quiet, but who was calling them? Who attacked her?”

“The former accomplices to that company’s corporate espionage and the first killer’s older brother, respectively. But that’s not what they wanted me to find out. They wanted me to find out the reason behind all of this so that they could make sure it stopped. It will be a while before they’ll be able to leave protective custody, but when they do they shouldn’t have to worry about this ever again.”

John grinned. “Another impossible case cracked by Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
